July 2018

Today was... a really, REALLY, shitty day.

I slept restlessly after forcing myself to turn off all electronics, lights, and sound at 10:30 pm, and then was up with the alarm at 3:45 am...because, well, WORK.  That is, for all intents and purposes (or: intensive purposes; or: in tents and porpoises; if you are of those natures) a total of 5 hours and 15 minutes of actual sleep.  Had I actually SLEPT, if you will. So, I maybe averaged a couple of solid hours somewhere in the middle and towards the end of all that. 

When the alarm went off at 3:45 I was almost grateful for the permission to get up and out of bed.  I started the day, before my feet hit the ground, thanking the universe for my job, for my physical ability to do it, for my mental ability to do it, for the sleep I got (such that it was) and beseeching the powers that be (yo God! Howya doin'??) to be with me in my day and to also be with my family, and #someonespecial.  I did see a glorious sunrise on my drive into work and my heart was full. Cue the dope-slap upside my preshus lil' noggin...bless my heart!

I have a new job.  Not news...but I am working a day shift, and a very EARLY day shift that is slightly outside of traditional shift hours: like all the truly imperative back door workers!  I mean, do you think the actual doctors just show up at the hospital and then plan out who to operate on, who comes first, who has coverage, or who is first and who is last and who didn't show up and who showed up 2 hours early without insurance?  Yeah... not a thing.  So.  My new job.  Early.  Important...ish.  New skills, new management, new co workers, new...vibe.  New...did I mention new management?  Sigh. 

It was a really, really, really shitty day.  Some days are like that.  Even in, oh... Canada.  I mean, maybe... eh?  I cried by 8:30 am; for the first time anyway.  Oh Canada... do you cry that early too?

Tonight to soothe myself, I got my nails prettied up (cuz when work starts that early, you get OUT of work early also!)  then picked up the babysitter (a very tolerant 13 year old whom I pay a kings ransom to) to relieve my underappreciated almost adult daughter (aka Hannah-the-Hero) and while Gman and Wonder-girl played, I made a trip to the local overpriced grocery store and got the fixin's for a special meal just for myself, and a frozen pizza for the short people.  Short-er people.  Just sayin'. 

I sated myself on mozzarella, fresh basil, and my own homegrown tomatoes slathered in balsamic vinegar and a rich and tasty olive oil; and a deep, rich, velvety red wine blend.  I ate and ate and... ate more.  I licked my plate: no, really, I literally and actually and definitively "licked" my plate;  because I was at home, bra-less, and in bare feet and cut off shorts... I mean, it seemed appropriate.  But don't tell anyone cuz it might ruin my pristine image!  And while I was at the store buying that mozzarella and the wine, I happened upon a discount florist table.  *backstory ensues*

All my years in the past, all 40+++ ahem of them... I have killed, maimed, destroyed, and devastated every known houseplant.  I have killed the unkillable.  I have caused fatal damage to the hearty, to the tolerant, to the...yea even to the false and silk variety.  I am ashamed.  However, since my grand move of late to this odd second floor/attic level 2 story apartment, I have managed to not just keep, but cause to THRIVE, a handful of destitute and sad flora and fauna.  No, I'm serious, all Orchids aside, it must be the exact placement of my dining room window whereupon a handful of previously decrepit (and now thriving) plantlings sit - because I am actually keeping foliage alive and even watching them GROW. 

So tonight, in my despair, while mozzarella and wine purchases were happening, I also purchased a new bit of greenery.  It was a slightly disheveled little wilty bit, with a tag declaring it was a "Prayer Plant".  How could I resist?  It was less than a gallon of milk, less even than the bit of Mozzarella I was splurging on.  It was a Prayer Plant... was there any other logical option but "purchase"???

I bought it. 

I named it.

It is, thus forth, "Lucy".

Oh right, did I mention we'd recently watched the Chronicles of Narnia? No? oh, huh, well... we did.  And so... Lucy, Lucy the Valiant.  Lucy, who wants to be beautiful and powerful... and actually IS although she just doesn't know it.  So today, to offset the shittiness and general crapola, I am focusing on Lucy the Valiant, my newest resident and bit of joy...and my personal goal. 

I am focusing on valiant-cy.  Is that a word?  I say it should be...valiancy.   I will be valiant.  I will be quiet and determined (although sometimes weepy!) and I will hold growth and joy in my heart.  Well, as often as I can at least!  And as I bid this shitty day goodbye, I remain steadfastly secure in my gratitude for my job, and for the side hustle that has me transcribing late into the night, and still asking for protection and blessings on my family and on #someonespecial, and trusting the universe (yo! God! you there?) to provide.

Lucy and I, and Gman and Wonder-girl, and Hannah-the-hero all wish you at least a moment of Valiancy, of truth, of bravery, of beauty and trust and glorious sunrise and tangy balsamic vinegar and sweet home grown tomato...of balance.  Go... in peace, with God, in light, and in knowledge you are covered by Lucy's infinite love.

Wednesday August 17: Day 8

I have a "one time" nanny position for another single mom who is traveling on business and isn't comfortable leaving her kids with the regular college student nanny she employs.  It's two separate time periods this month and we've done our "playdate/interviews" and chatted a lot but last night she let me know her regular nanny was very sick and asked if I could cover some time this week before our already scheduled trip-time.  I am not about to turn down money, obviously, so I said yes.  Today G and I picked up our new short friends and we went to see a summer-only $1 movie special at 10am. What fun!  We saw a great movie, had an enjoyable experience and then got to hang out and have free-play time together.  It was very successful and bodes well for tomorrow, Friday, and for our first big "trip-time" which starts on Sunday.

If you get the chance to see Cloudy With A Chance of Meatballs 2? Do it! What a cute movie!  Please - I'm not a movie critic, I'm not into filmography or plot lines or "between the lines" meanings... I'm all about visual entertainment and soundtrack, and subtle adult humor, and plain old fun; and this movie gave it all.

This morning was busy with income producing activity, and then this afternoon was the opposite.  I pleaded with my oldest son to babysit so that I could go with H to a college orientation.  Scurrying through the afternoon to pack up a lunch and toys and squeeze in a brief nap before dropping off G to his big brothers hands meant almost no down time for me. The orientation went well - very well - at least from a parenting standpoint - and leaving G with his big brother went about as well I had expected which was not very well at all. And all of it was costly.

Overall, G staying with his big brother is fine.  N started babysitting regularly for G when he was just 16 and when G himself wasn't even a year old.  At that time, it was a really tender and safe experience for the both of them.  It's different now though.  N keeps him safe, follows most of my instructions, and at the end of it all I have two live, happy, smiling boys.  The interim is up for debate though.  N said that G punched him in the face.  Now, picture if you will a 6'2" gangly goofball, musician, poet, tender soul, rambunctious man-child being punched by a 36" scrawny 32lb 4 year old... and somewhere in your momma heart, you wonder, "why?"  Why does he feel like hitting?  What happened that led up to it? Why did he feel that punching was an appropriate or necessary action?  I asked him.  I asked him in a variety of different ways with no good response and finally I said to him, "I'm sorry if you felt scared and needed to punch N to feel safer, I'm sorry I wasn't there for you to make you feel safe" and he totally folded.  "Momma, I missed you and I needed you! Why did I not come with you? How come I couldn't stay with you? I did the last time! I wanted to be ONLY with you!"  My heart shattered into a million pieces as I looked into his big brown eyes - a mirror of my own in fact - and tried to explain. 

"I can't always be with you, buddy,  sometimes I have to leave you with your brother or sister or someone else, but I will always try to leave you with someone that loves you and keeps you safe!"  He wasn't buying it though.  "But why?  Why can't you be with me? I neeeeeeed you!"he wailed...and tears leaked down his cheeks.  Those pink baby cheeks...  How I was able to keep my own tears from falling, and my own voice from breaking, I will never know.  Because he is right.  He does need me.  And because I was wrong - I haven't always left him with someone who keeps him safe... and he knows it. I am a liar in his eyes. There is so much trust to rebuild.  And in the meantime, he has a powerful Right Hook so, watch out!  If his momma won't (or can't) keep him safe, he's gonna go down trying to keep himself safe.  

He's so fucking brave and he's my hero.